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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116759">Nos Astra Confidential</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode'>Antipode</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Was Lost Without You [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Bad Flirting, Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Detective Noir, F/F, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Humor, Lesbians in Space, No Lesbians Die, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Spacer (Mass Effect), Tongue-in-cheek, War Hero (Mass Effect), shiara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:10:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipode/pseuds/Antipode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of loosely-connected short one-shots involving Sybilla Shepard's detective noire alter ego: Nos Astra's finest mercenary-turned-private-eye Alison Gunn. Relentlessly silly, fluffy, often sappy. I'll be using prompts from 2020's N7 Month Challenge.</p><p>Day 1: Red<br/>Day 2: Science<br/>Day 3: Cooperation<br/>Day 4: War<br/>Day 5: Cruelty<br/>Day 6: Indoctrination<br/>Day 7: FREE SPACE<br/>Day 8: Gun<br/>Day 9: Respite<br/>Day 10: Found<br/>Day 11: Allies<br/>Day 12: Green<br/>Day 13: Armor<br/>Day 14: Military<br/>Day 15: Compassion<br/>Day 16: Friends<br/>Day 17: Happiness<br/>Day 18: Substance<br/>Day 19: Blue<br/>Day 20: Shield<br/>Day 21: Undercover<br/>Day 22: Red Sand<br/>Day 23: Boot Camp<br/>Day 24: Enemies<br/>Day 25: Lost<br/>Day 26: Purple<br/>Day 27: Trauma<br/>Day 28: Peace<br/>Day 29: Legacy<br/>Day 30: End</p><p>Thanks to Gin and VindictiveStorm for Gunn-flavored pun chapter titles!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Was Lost Without You [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gunn Shy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All the seedy bars in Nos Astra, and she had to walk into mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saunters in like she owned the place. Society girl like her, she might’ve; a floor-length gown in a deep violet that hugs her form as tightly as the cornstalk-yellow gloves cling to her arm, jewelry worth more than I make in a year swaying from a slender, delicate throat, fuck-me heels clacking as she steps across the tiled floor. Purple lips parted ever so slightly, like she’s about to make you a promise, like she wants to whisper something into your ear. The bar, dangerously quiet and empty for an afternoon, goes still as she ankles towards me, her trail smelling like wildflowers and honey, so sweet you want to close your eyes and drink it in. She’s impossible to miss, and the glint in those fathoms-deep sapphire eyes tells me she knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I admire her approach and the look in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> eye lets her know it. The smile I’m hiding behind my glass of brandy is all for me, though. I take a quick sip, to blame the color in my cheeks on the burn, and steel myself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All those curves</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my mind’s eye whispers,</span>
  <em>
    <span> and me with no brakes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits close enough to touch me but far enough away that she doesn’t. A breathy murmur to the bartender and a second later there’s a tall, fluted glass of elasa balanced delicately between two elegant fingers, like she’s holding a flower she’s just plucked. She knows I’m watching, makes certain I’m watching, before taking a long sip, watching out of the corner of her eye as I watch her jaw tilt, watch her lips part, watch the promise of a blush begin to bloom. There’s the barest trace of a lip print on the edge of the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not know who else to turn to.” Her voice is like satin sheets on bare flesh, rich and decadent and filled with suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep it cool and aloof, pretending like a half-empty drink in a half-empty bar could somehow keep my attention away from her, even if I wanted it to. “Some sort of local trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A ghost of a smile flits over the blossom of her lips. “Something like that,” she purrs. “I’m looking for someone. An old friend. But every lead I follow…” For just a second, the smolder and sex slips away, and she looks frightened, lost. Vulnerable. A blink and it’s gone. “I understand you’re in the business of finding people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug nonchalantly and empty what’s in my glass. “I’m not looking for any new clients.” I make eye contact with the bartender, and without having to ask they’re already sliding a second glass of Serrice’s finest across the polished wood I’m leaning on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cornstalk-yellow-gloved hand snatches the glass up before I can. A pair of impossibly blue diamonds freeze me like a stasis field. She doesn’t blink, holds me in the headlights of those beams like a deer frozen by oncoming traffic and takes a long, slow, deliberate sip. I watch those lips part hungrily, watch the way that long, elegant neck trembles ever so slightly as the warmth slides down it, watch as twin touches of pink blooms on those pebbled scales of her cheeks. When she slides the glass back to me there’s a perfect purple lip print on the edge. “I can make it worth your while.” Her throaty whisper is like long fingers crawling up my thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take her blue eyes in with my green. I stare right back at those headlights, stare right into the eyes of the truck that’s about to barrel straight into me, and I walk straight into it, unblinking. “Come by my office tomorrow,” I manage, trying and failing to keep my voice under control. “Here’s my card.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes the little slip of plastic, caressing the edge with a long nail. Her eyes scan the title. The bloom of pink on her cheeks blossoms into a crimson rose, and those perfect purple lips press together. A soft, shuddering exhale of breath that starts slow and ends up rising, cresting into a helpless giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Alison Gunn?’ You went with ‘Alison Gunn?’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Honestly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sybilla…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My own cheeks redden, and this time not from the brandy. “What’s wrong with Alison Gunn?” I mutter, trying not to sound defensive. “I’ve got a whole character and everything! Alison Gunn, former Terminus mercenary turned private investigator…” It’s the first time I’ve actually said it, out loud. It turns out, it isn’t quite as good as I’d maybe imagined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liara snakes a gloved hand out to take mine, and strokes my wrist in a way that has my pulse racing, even if my pride is wounded. Those perfect purple lips are pressed together so tightly they’re almost lavender as she suppresses what looks like a dangerously overwhelming fit of giggles. Her eyes shimmer with hilarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Gunn,” she quavers, trying and failing to keep her voice in a low, seductive murmur, “I fear as though I am in danger, even coming to you like this- No, I can’t, Sybilla I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> call yourself ‘Alison Gunn,’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddess</span>
  </em>
  <span>...” A snort escapes her lips, and she claps both hands to her mouth to try and stifle the laughter bubbling up. It’s a good sound, like fingers plucking silver harpstrings. It’s a sound I haven’t heard enough of lately, a sound I’ll never tire of hearing. My own face cracks into a wide grin. We lock eyes again, green swimming in blue, and both of us dissolve into each other’s arms in a fit of wheezing, choking, eye-watering laughter. We’re holding each other up and doing a poor job of it; her arms are wrapped around my neck, cool and slightly textured, and my hands are clutching her sides, struggling to breathe through the giggles. At last the hysteria begins to fade slightly. We’re so close to each other, now: knees brushing, our foreheads resting against each other. She still has her arms around my neck and I don’t want them to ever be farther away than that. I run my fingers lovingly down her sides, trace patterns aimlessly on the swell of her hips, and something stirs in me as she shifts, leans into my touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, maybe the character needs work,” I admit magnanimously, still grinning from ear to ear. This time, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice that goes soft and breathy. “I’m open to some suggestions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must admit, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> growing on me… Miss Gunn.” There is mischief in those twinkling blue stars she has for eves, and longing, and a deep, almost desperate affection that takes my breath away every time I see it. It’s like the first time you see a sunset, the first time you see a planet from high orbit, every time I look into Liara’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case…” I nuzzle the side of that magnificent neck, inhaling that sweet wildflower and honey scent she exudes, allow my nose and the edge of my jaw wander and explore where we both want my lips to settle on. “In that case,” I breathe, “why don’t we head down to my office and discuss the ‘specifics’ of your case…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Six Gunn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>N7 month is here and I’m already behind! Here’s some more Alison Gunn silliness with the prompt ‘Red.’</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Red. Red like the flashes of neon in a staccato pulse across the dancefloor. Red like the hint of a blush on a smooth cheek, like the glimmer on a set of pert lips, half-parted in a smile, in a gasp. Red like the curve of a skintight dress, high to the neck and low across the back, the flash of a thigh as she ankles across the room. Red like the flame of her hair, riffled by a night breeze, by a playful toss of her head, by fingers running through, luxuriating in its softness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hide a smile behind the sweet burn of the fire in my glass and watch, watch where his eyes are going, watch where the rest of him wants to be going. It’s hot as hell, a dirty bar in a dirty part of town, a place where dreams can come true as long as they’re bad ones. A place where an arm slipped around your waist could as easily be trying to cop your credit chit as a feel, and an arm slipped around your shoulder is more likely to be someone trying to slide a knife in your back. In other words, a perfect place to hide in plain sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little warm under the collar, sailor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kaidan coughs, nearly drops his beer. “I uh… what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s trying to play it cool. He isn’t good at it. “Been watching her since we got in here,” I drawl. “You gonna make a play?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much else to look at down here,” the Major grunts. “If this isn’t the darkest hole in Nos Astra I don’t want to see what is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t, but it might be close. We’re miles below the sleek, sexy silver spires of the City of Stars, close to the red, red pulse of the real city, a city of blood and sweat and dark impulses, a city where everything has a price. If Nos Astra is Omega in expensive shoes, we’re on the underside of the sole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s honest, down here,” I murmur, sipping expensive brandy out of a cheap glass. “Down here, someone wants you dead, they have the common courtesy to stab you in the heart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of scene, Gunn,” my partner grumbles, “but it isn’t mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have a scene,” I bite back, but the wink tells him I’m just yanking his chain. “That’s your problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He acts affronted. “Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> my problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of them.” I slide out of our booth; dimly-lit, tucked away in a corner where I can see who’s coming and who’s going. You don’t sit down somewhere someone can come up behind you in Nos Astra. Not this close to the river. “Your other problem: both our drinks are empty. Same again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head vehemently. “Hell, no. I don’t know what was in that bottle but it wasn’t beer. Surprise me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I intend to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You can’t show weakness or fear in Nos Astra, and from the way I cross the floor over to the bar, I make it plain i haven’t been introduced to either: shoulders loose, fingertips just brushing the low-slung pistol at my hip, eyes locked on my quarry. The flashing lights remind me of striding through smoke, the thrumming bass, of the sinister hum of distant artillery. I slide a little too close to a pair of turians sidled up to the bar, but when I don’t respond to the heat of their stares they wisely decide to turn those eyes elsewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The asari bartender notices me and leans over, the white of her Clan-markings pulling my gaze to eyes like silver coins, drags my own eyes along a saucy smile. Her aura is equal parts ‘save me’ and ‘take me.’ I’ll bet she cleans up, with this crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’ll you have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two double brandies.” I nod towards the redhead on the other end of the bar, sitting alone. “And her next drink. Tell her my friend over there bought it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bartender gives me a knowing smile, and I decide I like her. She slides my own glass over before sliding toward the redhead. I watch her lean over, murmur something into her ear, and those icy blue eyes shoot across the length of the bar to the man sitting alone in the corner booth. A pair of ice-blue eyes shoot across the bar like the red dot of a laser sight, fixating right on a strong-jawed, blue-steel face, a pair of soft brown eyes, an easy smile. She chews a red, red lip in thought for a shouldering second before taking both her glass and his, and I catch a whiff of cinnamon and spice as she passes, a lingering heat. Red flashing lights play about bouncing red curls. There isn’t an eye in the room focused on anything but the way she’s moving in that high-front, low-back dress as she crosses the floor. Kaidan’s eyes are as wide as saucers, the redness around his collar visible from orbit. She slides into the booth, bright red against muted Alliance blues. It’s a good look.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Gunnsmoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Today’s prompt is ‘Science.’ N7 day is TOMORROWWWW EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chime of the bell was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.</p>
<p>It had been a long, gruelling lecture; a prying, a prodding, an interrogation with every ounce of intensity and fire as an Admiralty Board hearing, as a Council trial. The back of my neck burned and I could scarcely keep my hands from shaking. Dozens of eyes followed me as we filed in lockstep out of the hall, some mocking, some sympathetic. I’d kept my head up high, faced the music in my dress blues, but now I just wanted somewhere to curl up and disappear to.</p>
<p>“Solus is a real ball-breaker, huh? Does he <em>ever</em> stop talking?”</p>
<p>Jeff’s grumbling is good-natured, but the concern in his eyes is comforting. I glance at the time on my ‘omni before giving his wheelchair a gentle shove, just enough to knock that stupid cap of his loose. “He talks almost as much as you do, Joker. Almost as fast, too.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe, but my jokes actually land.” He re-adjusts his hat, letting out a snort. “He roasted you pretty good, though.”</p>
<p>The burning on the back of my neck is a testament to that. I let it slide and keep pushing him down the hall, checking the time for the fifth time in five minutes. A tall, statuesque drink of water ankles past both of us, pushing through the doors to Professor Solus’ room. Her long dark hair isn’t the only thing that bounces alluringly, and both of us pause a moment to watch the… TA? senior? saunter past. “Well, there’s always the midterm,” I shrug, after the bombshell strolls past.</p>
<p>“What the hell do you need advanced chem for, anyways? You’re a star athlete, every college in the system is gonna climb over each other to give you a scholarship.” He jerked the breaks on his chair; we’re at our lockers already. “Seriously, Allie. You’re gonna burn yourself out.”</p>
<p>They’d all told me my course load was too heavy, that I’d never be able to keep up my extracurriculars and extra credits. And maybe they were right, but spite is a hell of a motivator.</p>
<p>Of course, I’ve got other motivations.</p>
<p>My ‘omni hits 11:55 and Jeff’s voice fades into the background, everything fades into the background. There’s an electric tingle, first, an aura, like that first drop of rain before a downpour; the lightest, softest touch that tells you something’s on its way. There’s the faintest whiff of an irssal, of wild honey, of the pomegranate my dad used to eat every morning, and then like she does every second bell like clockwork she rounds the corner. Oversized grey sweater and a soft blue skirt. They match her eyes; blue and wide and deep as the Pacific. I want to be the armload of history books she has crushed to her chest. She’s quick but unhurried, a huntresses’ focus, a dancer’s grace, barely sparing anyone a second glance as she passes, to find a quiet tree to read under.</p>
<p>“Gunn? Earth to Gunn… You in there, Allie?”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>Jeff snorts. “Well, at least I know now why you’re beating your head against the wall to stick in advanced chem.” He rams his chair into the back of my calf, the shit-eating grin on his face threatening to crack his cheeks. “You could always ask her for help with your homework…”</p>
<p>I make a show of rolling my eyes, ignoring the creeping blush up the back of my neck. He’s caught me cold, but if he knows how bad I’ve got it I’ll never hear the end of it. “Like <em>you</em> weren’t looking, too, laser-brain.”</p>
<p>“Ehhh,” he shoves his books into his locker and slams the door. “Cute, but not my type. You gonna roll me to lunch or what?”</p>
<p>“You don’t <em>have</em> a type,” I snicker, obliging.</p>
<p>Throngs of students stream past, shoving, jostling, joking, laughing. It’s a crisp fall day outside; just cold enough for a sweater, just warm enough to unbutton and shrug off a jacket, leaves swirling, a breathing canvass of orange and gold and muted green. Joker and I trade good-natured barbs; I know as well as he does that the front ramp can be a hell of a gauntlet, depending on who’s lurking by the doors, that nobody would dare touch him with me pushing behind. We give each other a hard time, but the truth is as much as Kaidan is like a big brother to me, Joker is like a little brother. I’d throw down for him, any day.</p>
<p>“Hey, give that back!”</p>
<p>“Make me, Lawson.”</p>
<p>Today, it doesn’t look like I’ll be throwing down for Jeff, however.</p>
<p>Jimmy Vega stands out like a big toe among pinkie fingers. Thick-necked, broad-shouldered, he dangles a brown paper bag just out of reach of a slim young thing; dark-haired, pouty. A few of his flunkies chuckle safely on the sidelines. “Smells like ass, anyways,” the bully snorts. “Rich dad can’t afford to just buy you a mom to make you lunch?”</p>
<p>“Give it back!” the girl shouts again, fists balled at her sides. I feel something twitch in my jaw.</p>
<p>“Allie,” Joker warns, already sensing my intentions. “You get busted for fighting again, Coach Anderson said he was gonna bench you.”</p>
<p>“Then keep an eye out so I don’t get busted,” I retort, striding past him. The hyenas stop giggling when I step into the ring, putting myself between me and the Lawson girl. Vega leers at the both of us.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you looking at?”</p>
<p>“Not much,” I snort, planting my feet and folding my arms. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Vega?”</p>
<p>“What’s it to you?” He shrugs those mountainous shoulders, flexing his thick, stubby fingers. He looks like he lives in the campus weight room. “Is this your girlfriend, Gunn? She looks a little young for you. I thought blue was your color, anyhow.” His flunkies cackled.</p>
<p>“Maybe I just don’t like listening to you run your fat mouth.” I’m dancing lightly on the balls of my feet. Vega’s big, but you know what they say about ‘the bigger they are.’</p>
<p>He looms over me, a head taller at least, and probably a sixty, seventy pounds heavier. His thrust-out jaw looks like the biggest bullseye I’ve ever seen. He pokes a meaty finger into my chest, sending me a step backward</p>
<p>“You gonna do something about it?”</p>
<p>I’m smart, but a star student I’m not. Especially chemistry. Physics, however…</p>
<p>I grab his outstretched arm in both hands and pivot, ramming my shoulder into his chest even as I tilt my hips and plant my feet. Instantly overbalanced, he goes over my shoulder and into the mud and loam like a tree felled. I can practically feel the earth shake, can feel the silence build around me as Vega’s flunkies and onlookers and even the Lawson girl gape at me in shocked silence, standing over the muffled moans of the biggest, strongest boy in school.</p>
<p>My nerves are shrill as third bell. I don’t let it show - grabbing the fallen brown paper bag in one hand and taking the Lawson girl by the arm with the other, back stiff, head high, walking back over to Joker as quickly as our legs can carry. I can hear Vega struggle to his feet behind me, can hear the frustrated snarls and murmured reassurances of his cronies, can hear the muffled whispers from the onlooking students. </p>
<p>I risk a glance backwards. Not at Vega, but under a tree on the far side of the courtyard, where a girl in a grey sweater is wrapped up in a book, those big, beautiful blue eyes enraptured in stories of the past. Or, at least, they usually are - right now, they’re cutting across the open space like a laser, boring straight through me, a lightly freckled nose wrinkled slightly, purple lips lightly parted. We catch each other staring; her cheeks blossom pink and she looks down, my ears burn crimson and I turn.</p>
<p>Turn, straight into another pair of blue eyes; these ones clear and cold as a glacier, framed by bouncy black curls. God, her cheekbones are perfect. Her lips are pursed ever so slightly. Joker is white as a sheet, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here, frozen in place by the gaze of the gorgeous TA. I glance between her and the Lawson girl, and comprehension bludgeons me over the back of the head as I spot the resemblance.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>“You okay, Ori?” the woman drawls, her Australian accent somehow making her seem even more imperious, exotic. The Lawson girl nods, her eyes downcast.</p>
<p>“Yeah. It was nothing.”</p>
<p>“It didn’t look like nothing.” The older Lawson has her hands planted on her hips. She’s looking down disapprovingly at both of us.</p>
<p>“Jimmy offered to, uh, carry her lunch for her,” I stammer. “And then he slipped. You know how slippery the leaves get, in the fall.” I stare daggers at Joker, for failing to give me a heads-up. <em>You had one job</em>.</p>
<p>“Hmm.” The older sister stares right through me. Her face is unreadable. I feel like I’m being grilled by Professor Solus again.</p>
<p>“Gunn, right? Alison Gunn? I heard you’re having a little trouble with Professor Solus’ class,” she says finally. “I got a hundred in that class, year before last. If you’d like, I can give you my notes.”</p>
<p>I gape at her.</p>
<p>“You know,” she continues. “As a thank-you. For… making sure Ori didn’t slip. In the leaves.”</p>
<p>“That’d be… um… thanks,” I manage, trying to keep my eyebrows from climbing up my skull.</p>
<p>"Miranda," she offers. "I've just got my data-pad in my locker. Come with?" </p>
<p>I spare another glance backwards. Vega's nowhere to be seen. Blue-eyes has crawled back into her book. The blush is still on her cheeks, though. Joker's shit-eating grin has returned. I let out a long breath. This is going to be a stranger year, I can already tell</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Way of the Gunn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Today’s prompt is ‘Cooperation.’  Forever trying to catch up on these challenges lol.</p><p>Happy N7 Day!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As soon as I step through the door, I realize what a terrible idea this is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Couches and tables have been moved from the wide, open room. It looks like a killing floor. There’s a single long-stemmed rose in a jar on top of the piano, and several candles scattered about the mantle, like stepping into my own memorial. Mercifully, the blinds have been lowered, to hide the sins about to me committed. I can already hear him ‘limbering up’ in another room. My fingers are twitching for my sidearm - if there’s ‘mood music’ involved, I might use it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been difficult to get rid of Liara for the afternoon. Several rare Prothean artifacts from the personal collection of the late Matriarch Calesava were on display, and what a thoughtful bondmate, to have secured a viewing! I’d come up with an excuse as to why I couldn’t join her, but when she’d seen the ticket I don’t think she’d heard a single word that followed, had pressed a quick kiss and a “love you be home for dinner” and had flown out the door like a biotic charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saunters in, wearing… I’m not even sure how to describe it. It’s so far from the armor plating he usually wears, so far even from the military-style tunic and trousers he’s occasionally forced into, that for a moment I wonder if I’ve gotten the address right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Garrus Vakarian is wearing tights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every inch of his surprisingly lithe, limber frame is on display. It looks a little like a shaved falcon. He’s kept on the face paint, naturally, but the rest of him is encased in what looks similar to my compression suits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tali’Zorah is a lucky woman,” I manage to choke out, attempting to keep my eyebrows from entering high orbit while suppressing laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Garrus chuckles, his mandibles flaring proudly. “She’s only half-joking when she says she’s using me for my body. Speaking of - you aren’t going to do this in fatigues, are you?” He stretches out a long, spindly leg, pointing his foot with surprising elegance. “I don’t want you stomping on my toes with those boots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, already unlacing them. “I’ve got workout gear on underneath. Nothing pink and frilly, unfortunately for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything pink and frilly? Don’t answer that - I’ll ask Liara. No, better - I’ll ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kasumi</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to hell, Vakarian.” It’s isn’t cold, minus the hoodie and BDU pants, but I’m almost shivering nonetheless. Contrary to popular belief, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fearless. Nobody is. Mostly I can master my discomfort - mostly - but there are some things so far outside my own comfort zone…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say a drink would take the edge off…” The turian arches a mandible in what I’ve come to recognize as equivalent to a crooked eyebrow. “... but you’re uncoordinated as is. At this, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re loving this, aren’t you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “It’s just refreshing to see you’re still flesh and blood under there, sometimes. I figure, if you can be insecure about something like this, I’m allowed to have my own hang-ups.” He crooks his mandible again. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you to show this side of you to the team, once and awhile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes, run a hand through my hair. Maybe he’s right. A strong hand grips my shoulder, pulling me a step closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, soldier. Let’s get started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I relax a little, into his grip, try to focus on not tangling my feet with his as he glides me across the room with surprising grace. His flanged voice is soft, counting a beat. It’s clear he’s been practicing. Tali </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lucky woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you tell anyone about this...” I remind him, for the fiftieth time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He twirls me. “If you kill me, you won’t get a second lesson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just ask Thane. Or maybe Samara…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Gunn For Hire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Today’s prompt is ‘War.’ As in, ‘All’s Fair In Love And ___.”</p>
<p>I'm going to catch up on these I promise T_T</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The cold barrel presses into the small of my back. Not forcefully - not yet - but just enough so that I know it’s there, just enough that it’s impossible to ignore or misinterpret. I shrug my heavy stormcoat over my shoulders a little tighter and do my best to do just that; bending my head down over a bowl of steaming noodles. Around us, the torrential downpour continues, throwing up flashes of light and sound, impacts to the air amidst the glittering spires of the city above us, black and neon. Beautiful and dangerous as the point of an omni-blade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Goto will see you,” the voice behind me growls. The gun presses just a little tighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m busy,” I retort around a mouthful of noodles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Goto will see you,” the voice repeats. The gun presses painfully into the small of my back this time. At this range, my kinetic barriers can’t activate, and if he’s as good as someone hired by Kasumi Goto ought to be, he’ll notice me throwing up a biotic barrier. I let out a long, aggravated sigh and motion to the cook at the noodle counter, currently trying to avoid the situation playing out at her bar. Robberies and kidnappings, not to mention murder, are a daily occurance on Nos Astra, particularly this close to the river, and it pays to keep your head down and your mouth shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two things I’m terrible at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To go, please,” I motion to my still mostly-full bowl. Good noodles are too good to waste, and I can’t go to war on an empty stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I know it’s trouble when she’s smiling as I walk into her office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Gunn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s dark; dimly-lit by design, and on the night setting all I can see is a hooded silhouette, a pale face illuminated only by the orange glow of a data-pad screen. The only color is the vertical band of purple on a perfectly pouted bottom lip. Every few minutes, lightning throws the spacious, sumptuously-arranged chamber into a flash of whites and greys; a blurry after-image like a black-and-white sketch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kasumi.” I keep my tone neutral, my expression pleasant, but the smile doesn’t reach my eyes and we both know it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t have come if I just asked you to,” Kasumi says, her smile widening. “Sit down. I have a business proposition.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stay standing, not saying anything. The negotiations have already begun, and we both know that, too. Negotiations are war, in Nos Astra, and Kasumi’s fired the opening salvo. She’s played her hand by having one of her goons pick me up, and she’s played it again by not settling into the usual small talk. Starting off with both barrels fired can only mean one thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Gunn, let’s not stand on ceremony,” the thief rolls her eyes and gestures again to the proffered chair. The goon at my back isn’t pressing his gun into my spine again… yet… but his presence is a gentle nudge as is. I take a seat, watching the pale lumens in her eyes as she reaches under the desk and pulls out two shot glasses and a long-necked bottle of a dark, amber liquid. I continue to say nothing. In Nos Astra, when negotiating, it’s best to say as little as possible, and in Nos Astra, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> negotiating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe that’s why I’m always in messes like these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She jumped a shuttle from off-world three weeks ago. Killed the crew and passengers. We found the shuttle drifting upriver, so we know she’s still around here, somewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I arch an eyebrow as I take one of the glasses and bring it up to my nose. Eilsa and isthir-berry. A Serrice ‘65. Kasumi always gets the best stuff. “Embarassing,” I drawl, draining the glass in one go. My eyes never leave Kasumi. Her eyes never leave mine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not embarrassing,” she smirks, “because nobody is ever going to know she was here. Because you’re going to find her, and air her out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t work for you, Kasumi.” The liquor burns its way down my throat; fire and ice. I can still feel where her goon’s pistol bruised my back. She’s going to have to earn this one. “Give it to Nyxeris. She’s good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did.” Kasumi drains her own drink. “She can breath alright, as long as nobody unplugs her. She wasn’t good enough. Not as good as you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chill runs down my spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you, Gunn.” Kasumi’s smile is intolerably smug. “This is a bad one. The worst yet. I need the old troubleshooting space diva. I need your magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something about this offer that’s making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. There’s something deeply troubling with the way Kasumi is smiling. I lean forward, the neutral and pleasant sliding off my face like rain from my coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was quit when I walked in, Goto,” I hiss, “and I’m twice as quit now.” I rise to leave. The goon takes a step forward, to block me from the door, but the look on my face sends him two steps back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop right where you are,” Kasumi snaps. “You know the score, Gunn. If you aren’t one of us, you’re little people.” There’s no more teasing, no more amusement in her tone, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I loosen my shoulders, soften my stance. The fake, pleasant face slides back on, like a mask, like armor. I’ve lost, and we both know it, so we might as well make the best of it. I turn back to the desk, to the woman behind it who’s played me expertly into a corner. “No choice, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her smile has returned, as well. She slides the data-pad across the desk at me, and my gut freezes when I see the face she’d been looking at. Shimmering blue scales, the soft upsweep of an elegant crest, pensive lips in a rich, dark purple. Those sapphire eyes, wide and deep as an ocean, drinking me in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No choice, Gunn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Negotiations in Nos Astra are war, and all’s fair in love and war.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll probably keep this going for as long as I can come up with 'Gunn'-puns for chapter titles. So far in the works I have Gunn Shy, Way of the Gunn, Gunnsmoke, The Gunnslinger, Tickets to the Gunn Show... if you've got 'em, throw 'em my way &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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